The Future Past
by HouAreYouToday
Summary: COMPLETED! Dr. Laura Watson and Jake Holmes team up to fight the biggest criminal of them all. Set three months after their first adventure (One of Those Nights)... what will happen when someone comes between their partnership?
1. Tickets to Carmen

AN: I know, I know, it's a really lame title name. My brain's been fried studying for finals, and this was a nice relaxing break. Anyway, here's the sequel (it's the one I've been meaning to write with Dr. Laura Watson and Jake Holmes)… it takes place about three months after their first story, One of Those Nights. Since then, Holmes and Watson have become friends. As always, anything resembling ACD's stuff is ACD's stuff.

Ok, enough blabbing, here's the story… 

The Future Past

Chapter 1

            It was an atypical Friday afternoon in Los Angeles. The usual smog layer and irritating traffic jams were nowhere to be found. Instead, it was a beautiful day. 

            Even the way I was behaving was atypical- at least for me. Fridays were usually reminders that I led a rather routine and sometimes lonely life, unable to participate in office banter about weekend dates; this was usually enough to set me into a brooding funk that lasted most of the weekend. 

            But today was different. The air was crisp, and, for the first time in months, I didn't have paperwork to bring home. I was free- all weekend. Perhaps this was why I couldn't stop smiling all day and singing to myself; on top of that, I was being civil- not just polite- but _nice- to everyone. Maybe there was some happiness inducing antigen in the air that had replaced the smog. _

            I started doodling on a post-it, trying to figure out what I was going to do with my spare afternoon. I could go shopping- I hadn't done that in ages. Or maybe curl up in my pajamas on my couch and reread the Thomas Covenant Chronicles Trilogy over again. Either way, I resolved to leave the office- lime green walls and all- early that day. It was just too beautiful to stay cooped up inside doodling on post-its. 

            Before I could reach for my purse and dash out unnoticed, someone walked in. 

            "Watson."

            The commanding voice could have only belonged to one person. "Hey, Holmes, what's going on?" I smiled at the tall man with the pale complexion and disheveled light brown hair. 

            Holmes perched himself in his usual place- on my desk. "So, Watson, you busy tonight?"

            I was curious. Holmes wanted something. We had collaborated on a few cases before, and this was how he had prefaced everything. "Why?"

            He was already busy playing with the Rubik's Cube I was currently using as a paperweight. "I was wondering if you could do a favor for me."

            "Depends on what it is." I grimaced, thinking of the last time he had asked me for a favor. I- _we- had almost gotten killed. But it was still exciting, I had to admit to myself._

            Holmes pulled out a pair of tickets out of his pocket and handed them to me. "I got these in the mail as a little thank you present from Kent Nagano for a rather trivial matter I helped him out with last month."

            I examined the tickets. My hands began to shake with excitement. "These are third row orchestra tickets to opening night of Carmen!" I exclaimed. Trivial matter indeed for LA Opera's new Principal Conductor. 

            "It's tonight," Holmes stated. 

            "That's great!" I grinned as I handed him the tickets back. "You are so incredibly lucky." I had tried to get tickets a month ago to no avail. Everything that was left was way beyond my price range.

            "Well?"

            I was a bit confused. _Why did he always assume that my brain worked as fast as his? "Well what?" _

            Holmes chuckled. "Are you free tonight? Or have you already made plans with Thomas Covenant?" 

            "Hey! You can't make fun of the books if you haven't read them! Besides…" I was about to launch into further protest when it suddenly dawned on me what he was asking. I felt a slight blush creep into my cheeks. 

            "So how about it? I'd hate to let these tickets go to waste seeing how it is one of your favorites."

            Something didn't feel right. It seemed too planned, too un-Holmes-like. Holmes would not show up in my office _just to ask me to go watch an opera hours before it started. In fact, if he really had just wanted to go to the opera, he would have waited until about half an hour before it started before dropping by my apartment and __then we'd go see it. It didn't matter that I was in jeans, he would argue- as he did when we went to see La Boheme two months ago- I wasn't the one performing. _

            But this time, he had actually come in hours before the opera was scheduled to start. "What's the catch?"

            His eyes twinkled with amusement. "Catch?" he parroted.

            I rolled my eyes. "Every other event we've gone to you've come by my apartment with barely enough to drive there. What's so important about going to Carmen tonight that you've stopped by my office in the afternoon? I have more than two minutes to get ready for a change."

            "I'm there to observe someone," he conceded.

            So much for thinking it was just for fun. "It's a case?"

            He shrugged, seemingly distracted for a moment before he turned to face me again. "I need an extra set of eyes. Well, are you in?"

            He was avoiding the question and I decided not to press further. Besides, a free ticket to Carmen with Placido Domingo as Don Jose was WAY too good to pass up. I smiled. "Yeah, ok. I'm in. What time are you coming by?" 

            Holmes seemed relieved as he hopped off my desk. "I'll be there at 6:20. Thanks Watson." 

            "So is there a dress code? Or should I go in my usual attire of lab coat and scrubs?" I joked, still not completely sure why Holmes wanted me to go with him. _An extra set of eyes? For what? How was I supposed to know what to look for if he wouldn't tell me?_

            "It's opening night, Watson! What do you think?" He strolled out the door and disappeared, not waiting to hear my answer. 

            I hated it when he did that.


	2. Forget the Investigation

AN: a little bit more, as I have been horrible with updates…(plus, I have most of this one written)… enjoy. Please, review and let me know if this dynamic has become completely OFF. As always, anything resembling ACD's stuff is ACD's stuff.

Chapter 2

            It was already 6:15 and I still wasn't ready. I groaned inwardly as I wrestled with nude colored pantyhose. It had taken me some time to find something halfway decent to wear that didn't smell like mothballs. I finally decided on a form fitting burgundy dress that had a lacey black overlay. It had been awhile since I got dressed up for a night out- especially on an opening night. The last time I remember going to something like this was with James. 

            The rapid knock on my door jolted me out of my thoughts. I quickly adjusted my hose and smoothed out the creases in my dress. Walking over to the door, I opened it. It was Holmes, trimly dressed in a sharply creased suit. Even his usually messy hair was neat. 

            I was impressed. "You clean up pretty good." It was definitely an understatement. He was hot.

            He smiled wanly. "I know. So are you ready?"

            A fancy suit still couldn't hide the ego. I shook my head. "Hold on, I need to get some shoes." I picked out a pair of chunky black heels to match and grabbed my purse. 

            "So, what do you think?" I nervously asked Holmes, gesturing to my outfit. 

            "Stop fishing for compliments, Watson. You look fine." He seemed a bit impatient. 

            I took the hint and said nothing further as I locked the door behind us, following Holmes down the long hallway towards the elevator. 

            We arrived at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion a good twenty minutes before the opera was scheduled to start. Holmes pulled his car into a parking space and turned off the engine. He then got out of the car and strolled over to the passenger door, opening it. Like the perfect gentlemen, Holmes then offered me his arm.

I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer as I took it. "Holmes, is there anything you want me to do?" 

             "Just be yourself, Watson. Enjoy yourself tonight. I'll tell you about this case later," he assured. 

            I sighed in defeat, knowing how stubborn he could be. Turning my attention to my surroundings, I realized just how incredible this whole night was. All of Los Angeles' elite had turned up for opening night; photographers for the society pages were busy taking pictures of everyone making small talk in the courtyard, decked out in their finest evening wear, scattered in groups around the beautiful fountain. I was beginning to feel incredibly underdressed and out of place. 

            Holmes sensed my nervousness. "Relax. Just blend in," he tried to reassure me as we entered the building. 

            I managed a small smile. It was easy for him; he was used to this undercover stuff. "Find who you were looking for?" I couldn't resist prying as his piercing gaze seemed to focus on two men talking animatedly under the main chandelier. One of them looked vaguely familiar.

            After a few moments, he turned to smile at me, seemingly satisfied. "Let's go find our seats." 

            Then it dawned on me just how lucky I was. I was here to see Carmen! And third row orchestra! Hearing Placido Domingo live! My curiosity about Holmes' investigation could take a backseat to that for a while. 


	3. The First Sign of Trouble

AN: As always, anything resembling ACD's stuff is ACD's stuff. 

Chapter 3

            The first half was absolutely amazing. I was completely blown away by the whole experience; third row orchestra definitely had its benefits. 

            "Glad you're enjoying the show," Holmes remarked as the lights came on for intermission. 

            I grinned. "Yes, thank you so much!" We stood up and followed the crowd to the lobby, where refreshments were being served. 

Holmes suddenly darted off without a word. It must be the case, I figured, as I picked up a bottle of water from a nearby table. I was used to this too.

And then I noticed someone watching me from the bar. There was no mistake; the intense gaze from those beautiful hazel eyes- it was James, my ex-husband. 

He strolled up casually. "Hello, Laura. It's great to see you again."

I gulped. "Hi James. How've you been?" He was still as good-looking as ever; the freshly pressed black Armani suit he was wearing only further accentuated his height, striking black hair and well-defined jaw line.

"Splendid." 

I attempted a smile, encouraged by the enthusiasm in his voice. "So why are you here? I thought you never liked Carmen."

"I don't like the character, no. Carmen is a two-timing Jezebel." He looked at me pointedly before continuing. "The opera overall, however, is amazing."

I glanced at my feet guiltily before raising my eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry." I could never say it enough. 

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It happens. But it really is great to see you again." He flashed one of those familiar grins- the ones I never knew that I had missed that much until that moment.

Holmes chose that moment to walk up and place his hand protectively on my arm. It surprised me, but one look at Holmes' face muted any comment I was going to make. He seemed to have something up his sleeve. "Laura." 

I was puzzled. He had never called me by my first name- and to my surprise, I actually liked it. Yet his gaze was focused solely on James. _What was going on? _

James' face contorted with some unreadable emotion before he exerted a control over his features and plastered a smile on his face. "Your date, Laura?" 

"James, this is my _friend, Mr. Jacob Holmes. Jake, this is my ex-husband, James Watson." _

"It's James Moriarty now." James corrected, as he shook Holmes' outstretched hand. He had changed his last name to his mother's maiden name. To him, we were a thing of the past. He obviously had moved on. 

I hadn't. I was still deeply in love with him. Seeing him only made my heart ache more. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Professor. Your reputation has preceded you." 

"And you, Detective." An understanding seemed to pass between them as they exchanged silent looks. 

"Do you two know each other?" I had never really talked to Holmes about James- but then again, he was Holmes. He just knew stuff.

            James raised his wine glass to Holmes. "Everyone's heard of the Great Detective." 

            Holmes only cocked an eyebrow, bemused. "Of course."

            James then turned to me. "How about lunch Monday? To catch up?" Holmes tightened his grip on my arm.

            I was quite bewildered. The last time I had talked to James, he had only contempt for me. Now, it seemed like he wanted to be friends again. "Sure," I stammered, as I scrawled my phone number on a nearby napkin and handed it to him. 

"I'll call you, Laura. It was nice to finally meet you, Detective." 

"What was that about?" I asked Holmes as James walked off.

"You tell me." Holmes' lips were compressed in a thin line. He was glaring at me. 

"I don't understand."

He shook his head. "We'll talk about this later. Intermission's almost over. Let's head back to our seats." 

I knew Holmes had an unusual ability to detach himself from problems completely and be immersed in what he was doing at the moment. This looked like it was one of those times- but I didn't want to put up with it. Seeing James again had thrown me into a weird mood. "Look, first you won't tell me why you dragged me here, and then you- and James act like you're best friends!" 

"Hardly." 

I shook my head. "Then how do you know him?" I cried. 

Holmes gave my arm a deliberate squeeze. "Please, Watson. This is neither the time nor the place." 

I noticed my outbursts were drawing the glares of those around us. "Fine, but you are not leaving me tonight without an explanation," I hissed. 

Something across the room caught Holmes' attention. He looked slightly panicked. "Can this wait until tomorrow? There's something important that's I need to take care of." He glanced around hurriedly as if he was searching for someone. "In fact, I need to go right now. Here's some cab fare." He placed a folded twenty into my hand and darted out the nearest exit before I could protest.

"I thought our partnership was important," I mumbled to no one in particular. I swallowed my conflicting emotions, forced myself to follow the rest of the herd back into the theater. 


	4. The Kiss

AN: As always, anything that reminds you of ACD's stuff is ACD's stuff. Much thanks to my reviewer, A.Spencer- thanks for making me feel better about this story. Oh, and snowwolf, if you're reading this, the stuff on the gravestone will be answered later in this story…  ENJOY! 

Chapter 4

The rest of the opera was probably really good. I wouldn't know. I was too preoccupied about what had just happened, too frustrated at my inability to comprehend what actually happened, and too nervous about my upcoming lunch with James, and too ticked off at Holmes, to really enjoy the second half. In fact, it took all my self-control to not bolt out of the Pavilion cursing in the middle of the act. That would have pissed off the rest of the audience.

When the opera was over, I headed toward the nearest telephone with every intention to call a cab. But a tap on my shoulder made me whirl around. I could feel my expression softening when I saw him. It was James.

"Hey." I tried to smile, but only managed a nervous half-twitch.

"What's wrong, Laura?"

He always seemed to know. "I need to call a cab," I blurted out, relieved that someone was listening to me for the first time this night.

James cocked an eyebrow. "Mr. Holmes left you here? That's not very polite."

"It was something important," I offered weakly in Holmes' defense.  

"I'm sure it was," James remarked. "Now, how about I give you a ride home?"

I shook my head furiously. "No, it's ok. I can get myself home. Besides, it's probably really out of your way and I don't want to interfere with your date," I rambled, trying to think of any excuse. 

"I'm here by myself, don't worry. I insist. Please." 

I couldn't refuse him. "Ok," I whispered.

He smiled. "Come on, my driver's waiting." 

_Driver? And then I noticed he was guiding me to a nearby black Cadillac, complete with a driver holding the door open. _

I sucked in my breath as I scooted into the car, a bit overwhelmed by the new leather smell. This was incredible. In five minutes I had gone from having no ride to living the good life; just being with James again was intoxicating, and I couldn't think straight.

"So, Laura, now that it's just the two of us, how have you really been lately?" James asked after I had told his driver the directions to my apartment.

"It's been all right. I've taken a job at the medical examiner's office."

He nodded. "Yes, I've heard you've been doing quite well.

I shifted the questioning. "How about you?" Since our divorce, it seemed (judging by tonight anyway) that he was the one leading the interesting life.

He grinned. "Things have been running smoothly lately."

Of course things would be great without me around to screw him over. "That's great!"

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how did you and Mr. Holmes ever meet up?" 

I smiled, relaying the events that led to our partnership starting with that one particular Tuesday night. James seemed quite interested in the story, laughing heartedly at all hilarious points, grimacing appropriately at the horrors of the crimes Holmes and I had come across in the last three months. The only thing I found slightly troubling was his unmistakable pleasure that Dr. Austin Reingold- my old flame- had killed himself. But then again, given that I had cheated on James with the doctor- I didn't blame James for having his reaction in the least. 

Our conversation was then interrupted by James' cell phone.

"Moriarty."

James paused. "What do you mean, he's not taken care of?" Another pause. "Yes, please, leave that nosy son of a bitch to me, I'll personally take care of it."

He must have made some enemies since I left, I figured, a bit concerned about the venom in his voice.

I watched as James' lips curled into a smile. "Very good work, Jack. Yes, he'll turn up eventually. And check all the ERs within a 15 mile radius; they can't have gotten too far. All right, keep me updated. " He snapped the phone shut and then turned back to me.

"Sorry about that Laura. Work never ends, you know."

I smiled, remembering how just how hard-working he was. So hard-working he forgot about me sometimes. "Yeah. Don't kill yourself, all right?" 

He shook his head. "Don't worry about me, Laura. I'll come out on top, as usual." 

I chuckled. Same old James. "I know."

"By the way, I don't know if I've said anything tonight, but you look absolutely fantastic." 

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson (to match my dress, I suppose). "Thanks," I managed to squeak out, pretending that I was engrossed in the passing scenery. We were nearing my apartment building. 

James placed his hand on mine. "So we're agreed on Monday lunch?"

I felt myself tremble at his touch. Did he still care- about me? Did he finally forgive me? I nodded, unable to say anything coherent.

The driver pulled up to the curb and stopped the car.

I never realized how much I missed him until we had pulled up to my apartment. I definitely did not want to leave. 

"How about at McCormick and Schmik's? I'll be at the bar at noon." He leaned over and gave me a small peck on the cheek.

 I almost fainted. "Sure. Thanks for the ride. And, uh, have a good night," I stammered, blushing harder.  

I got out of the car, waved, and headed into my apartment building, pleasantly surprised that this evening turned out quite well after all. Oh, who was I kidding… I was on cloud nine. Or ten. 


	5. Ah, Holmes at the door?

AN: I almost choked on my OJ when I saw how much feedback I was getting to this story (and "One of Those Nights"). Gosh, you guys are too kind (please, I welcome all criticism!) Anyway, thanks so much to my reviewers… beth einspanier (thanks for the wonderful praise), kittenchatter (sorry about the chapter 4 title, didn't mean to trip you up; ah! another TC fan!!!! YAY!), moonrose (here's more chapters for ya!), pinkpanther (thanks so much following both stories), fowl-star (you're too cute!), and finley (I forgot to thank you for the last story!). As far as the question about romance, I must continue to decline the question, as I'm enjoying every bit of this dynamic too much right now. Basically, Watson and Holmes are friends; they don't judge each other, they just… understand. (make sense? Probably not).

Now, ACD owns what's his.  Enough of my blabbering. 

Chapter 5

I had just barely changed into a comfy pair of pajamas (an pair of old scrubs from my residency years) when I heard an urgent pounding on my door.  I ran to answer it.

Holmes and another man tumbled into my living room. 

I was alarmed. "What's going on?" I asked as I hurriedly shut the door behind them.

Holmes was propping the other man up. "Watson, we need your help. This man- he's been shot," he relayed breathlessly.

"We need to go to the ER then! Why'd you bring him here?" I began searching frantically for my car keys. Holmes could be quite dense sometimes. 

"No. I won't go there. He'll find me and kill me for sure," the other man moaned. 

I glanced helplessly at Holmes. "What am I supposed do then?" 

Holmes threw me the bag he was carrying in his free hand. "Take the bullet out. The supplies are in there."

_This was too much. He was asking me to remove a bullet from someone in my own living room? __Without an anthesiologist, or even proper hospital equipment for the procedure? "You're kidding."_

Holmes shook his head gravely. "I'm afraid not. Please Watson. This guy will die if he goes to an ER. There are people looking for him out there."

"I'd rather die here, doc, then die by their hand. Please, get it out," the other man pleaded, gasping.

I swallowed uneasily as I nodded. "Ok. I have your word on that." Part of me was still screaming and didn't allow me to move. _What the hell are you doing Laura? You haven't operated on a living being in a year and not to mention the potential malpractice-_

"Watson, please." Holmes was begging me. I had to agree. _For Holmes, then. _

I opened the bag Holmes had tossed me, finding some gauze, some packaged surgical tools, some sutures- basically, a rudimentary surgical kit with some bottles of saline and a large plastic tarp. This I spread out on the floor and Holmes placed the man on it. 

 "Where was he shot?"

Holmes pointed at the source of the blood- a point right below the man's collarbone. 

I ripped the man's shirt around that area and begin preliminary cleansing with some saline. "If I do this Holmes, at the very least, you owe me some answers." 

"I promise, Watson. I'll answer everything I can."

Satisfied for the moment, I took a deep breath and began working. 


	6. Here's the Reasons Why

AN: ACD owns a LOT of what's in this chapter- you all will see why. In fact, some of it's verbatim (*ducks all lawsuits). Anyway, this story is basically my twist on the Holmes-Moriarty ACD plot… with a little someone named Laura Watson thrown in the mix. So, since some of you asked for longer chapters, and a little more tension, here you go… enjoy! (meanwhile, I'm going back to memorizing biochemical pathways… sigh… to have to live vicariously through you all) J 

Chapter 6

Three hours later the man was resting peacefully on the bed in my guest room and Holmes was cleaning up the last traces of blood. I had collapsed from sheer exhaustion on the couch, and was currently watching Holmes trying to Clorox my carpet.

"I'm afraid you're still going to have to replace the carpet. I can't get this out," he admitted sheepishly before giving the spot one last futile scrub.

I shook my head, too tired to care. "Whatever, Holmes."  
            He tossed the sponge into the nearest sink and washed his hands, finally plopping on the couch next to my feet. "Where do you want to start?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

"Ok… who's that man who's sleeping in my guest room and how did he end up there?"

Holmes sighed. "That is Peter Masterson. He was the one I was meeting at the opera tonight. That's why I had to leave; I was worried about his safety." 

I shrugged. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Holmes. That doesn't explain anything."  
            He sighed. "As you know, Watson, there's no one who knows the higher criminal world of Los Angeles like I do. For a couple of years now, I have noticed some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of the most varying sorts -- forgery cases, thefts, murders -- I have felt… this presence, and I have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which I have not been personally consulted by Lestrade.' 

'It's taken me three months, and I've finally been able to trace it to the top, following the string, in a sense. I realized that it was…" Holmes paused. He was trying to decide whether or not to tell me.

"Who?" Holmes' account had gotten me hooked. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be mad at him. I was very curious.

He gave me a funny look. "The name is irrelevant at this moment, but let me assure you, he is the Napoleon of crime, the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, Watson, pure and simple."

"So he runs this top-of-the-line Mafia. No different from Al Capone." 

Holmes chuckled. "Al Capone wouldn't even qualify as his right-hand man. But yes, the organization is similar, I suppose. This guy does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized. If there's a crime to be done, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed -- the word is passed to him, the matter is organized and carried out. The hired may be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or his defense. Al Capone was caught- but this man has never even been remotely suspected. This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and I devoted my whole energy lately to exposing and breaking up."

I nodded, prodding him to go on. I was no longer tired, but enamored with Holmes' description. One guy ran the entire criminal underworld of Los Angeles. "Are you coming close?"

"You know my abilities, Watson- and for the last three months, it was impossible to get evidence against him that I could turn over to Lestrade. I was forced to confess that I had met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip- or rather, his right hand man- who's resting in your guest room right now- made a mistake, and I caught him. In exchange for his welfare, he has agreed to provide me with the ammunition to bring down the entire group."

"An informant."

"Yes, Peter Masterson is my informant. We arranged to finally meet at the opera last night during intermission; Peter had the papers I needed to finish off the entire organization. But I was spotted by the very man himself." 

"This guy knows you're after him?"

Holmes seemed slightly annoyed. "Of course, Watson. He's been able to foil _me for three months."_

There was the ego again. 

"He also saw Peter earlier that evening- and thus has put two and two together. Thus, fearing for Peter's safety, I had to leave you tonight. Having Peter alive to testify as a witness would ensure conviction. And yet I still arrived too late to prevent any harm…" Holmes' shoulders sagged as he trailed off.

I pulled him into a hug, trying to comfort him. "Hey, it's ok. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs; he'll live."

Holmes stiffened. I dropped my arms, a bit embarrassed. "Why didn't you call Lestrade?" I asked, attempting to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"I did call Lestrade on the way to your place. They have all the evidence they need now, and my trap is in place. In three days- basically by Tuesday, the whole organization will be in custody." 

"So what about between now and then? I mean, is Peter just going to hang out with you for three days? Sleep in my guest room?"

"Lestrade should be here to pick Peter up any minute now. He has assured me that Peter will be put in the federal witness protection program. How much protection that actually is, I wouldn't know. And really, Watson, I couldn't ever ask you to let Peter stay here. It's too dangerous. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you." 

I looked at him, deeply touched. "So ditching me at the opera with the biggest, meanest criminal mind in Los Angeles milling around isn't dangerous?" I quipped.

Holmes' expression turned serious. "You are in more danger around me then you ever were around him. Besides, something came to light tonight that reassured me of your safety." 

"What do you mean danger around you? He's coming for you, isn't he? Can't the feds protect you too?" The sheer adrenaline that I was running on was giving way to some hysteria.   
            Holmes shook his head. "I don't qualify as a witness, Watson- you know that. And yes, I must leave as soon as Lestrade gets here; this man's rage against me will be all the greater when he finds me with you."

"Now what do you mean that? How am I involved in this?" I was now really confused. 

 "I've already said too much, Watson."

A rapid succession of knocks at my door made me jump out of my seat. Holmes beat me to the door and looked in the peephole. Then he opened the door, letting in the rat-faced, weasly detective who, for Holmes' sake, I had actually starting being civil to. 

"Dr. Watson," Lestrade greeted me. "Is the witness ok?" Holmes closed the door quickly behind him.

I nodded. "Yes, Detective, he should be fine. Though you might want to get another doctor to check him and make sure there's no infection to the wound."  
            "Of course. So where is he?" 

I gestured to the door of my guest room. "In there. He's resting."

Lestrade went in, reemerging a few moments later with the man I had "operated on" a few hours ago. They approached me slowly. 

"Thank you, Dr. Watson." Peter's voice was a whisper. 

His sincerity just capped the rollercoaster day. I felt myself beginning to tear up. I could only nod. 

Peter then turned to Holmes. "And for you, Mr. Holmes- I have one last bit of information."

Holmes turned all his attention to the injured man. "What is it, Peter?"

Peter weighed his words carefully. "He may have loved her once, but I know that he doesn't love her anymore. And he'll use her against you- so be careful, or you'll end up like me." His voice dropped another octave. "And maybe this time, she won't be there to save you."

Lestrade and Peter left without another word.

            As soon as the door shut, Holmes dropped into the nearest chair and buried his face into his hands. I had never seen him so despondent. On the other hand, I was more confused than ever.

            "Holmes?" I placed my hand on his shoulder.

            He looked up at me, eyes uncharacteristically reflecting an emotion which I couldn't discern. "Watson? I know I have asked a lot of you of tonight."

            I smiled at him, trying to make him feel better. "Hey, we're friends. Besides, you'd do the same for me."

            He took my hand in his. "Undoubtedly. But I want to ask you one last thing. I was wondering if you'd be willing to take a weeklong trip with me." 

            "Where?" I could feel my face growing hotter with every second he held onto my hand. _This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. _

            Holmes gestured aimlessly. "Anywhere, it's all the same to me."

            If I had understood any part of Peter's warning to Holmes, it was this: they would try to get to Holmes through me. I couldn't have Holmes coming back from hiding because he was concerned about my welfare. Perhaps then, I might be safer- and Holmes would be safer- if we traveled together, if I went with him into hiding. This must be what Holmes was thinking. 

            "When do we leave?" 

            Holmes' face lit up as he regained his usual sense of control. "These are your instructions. Please follow them to the very letter, Watson…"


	7. The Next Day

AN: Thanks to my reviewers! (personal notes at the bottom of the chapter) As always, ACD owns anything that reminds you of The Final Problem. 

Chapter 7

            I sat on the bench on the MetroLink Red Line platform, trying to appear nonchalant as I thumbed lazily through the New York Times. I was bundled in my warmest clothes, looking very bit the part of the bored commuter, with the dead-end job in a downtown office, waiting for the 6 AM train. Inside though, I was a nervous wreck. I felt quite unprepared for whatever Holmes had planned; Holmes had specified that I carry my shoulder bag and nothing else. Was I supposed to wear the same thing for the entire week? _Damn him. _

            Holmes had left my apartment after he gave me explicit instructions about how and where to meet up with him. Given that the designated meeting time was at Union Station Downtown was at 7 the next morning, and that it was about 4 in the morning when he left, I gave up on the idea of sleeping. Instead, I spent the next thirty minutes trying to figure out how to get in contact with James to postpone our lunch date until I got back on Tuesday; I realized that I could leave a message on his voicemail at the USC Math Department. Then, I spent the next hour trying to figure out what exactly to say. It ended up being something along the lines of this: apology, something came up, apology, apology, Holmes' fault, apology. And then the stupid part: _I miss you._

            I smacked myself on the forehead. _How could I have been so moronic! I miss you? If he didn't know I had no social life (other than tagging along with a detective who was an arrogant jerk most of the time), he knew now: I was still in pieces over him. God, I'm pathetic._

            Pay attention, I scolded myself silently, trying to pull myself out of the self-pity fest. Holmes had admonished me more than once last night about being completely aware of my surroundings. I glanced at my watch. It was 5:50, and people were starting to board. I glanced around, gauging my surroundings. There were only a handful of people who were taking this early Saturday train into downtown LA.. Three middle-aged Hispanic ladies were speaking animatedly to my left, and to my right, two overzealous scowling corporate suits, who were trying to avoid the rest of us- me, an old Catholic priest, a bearded man with shaggy blond hair carrying a well worn tenor saxophone case, and a couple of teenagers, interlocked in a revolting display of affection. It was going to be an interesting morning. I sighed, and got on the train, picking a window seat off in the middle of the compartment. 

            I stepped off the train forty-five minutes later at Union Station, hurrying off the platform to the back of the station, where (like the typical commuter) I would buy a raspberry pastry and coffee. Then, I was to board the Amtrak northbound to San Francisco leaving from Platform E. Seat 7, he had said, in the third car from the front. _And make sure you're not being followed._

            I obeyed his instructions to the very letter, finding myself in seat 7 of the third car from the front. Ten minutes had gone by, the conductor was announcing final boarding calls, and I was starting to get more anxious, staring out the window for any sign of Holmes. _What if something happened to him this morning after he left my apartment? _

            The doors closed, and I felt the train moving. _Shit. Where the hell was Holmes? At that moment, the same bearded man with the tenor sax case walked into the car, and plopped right next to me. __Ugh. This was not looking good._

            I gave him a dirty look, and resigned myself to the fact that Holmes was probably elsewhere in the train, and would be coming by any minute. Anything was better than the alternative reason, and Holmes had always had this love of the dramatic. But then again, his absence would indicate some sort of foul play-

            "You gonna have that raspberry pastry?" my neighbored asked in a raspy voice, gesturing to the Starbucks paper bag I had in my lap.

            I glared at him. "Why do you care?" I shot back testily. After the last twenty four hours, my nerves were shot.

            "Well, I was wondering if I could have some breakfast, since I did ask you to buy it for me," the man remarked, smirking. He proceeded to tear away his beard, a deceptively real glue-on.

            It was Holmes. I was astonished, and then infuriated. I shoved the bag at him, rendered speechless.

            "Coffee, too, please," he acted as if he didn't notice my furious expression. "And don't spill it," he winked.

            I handed the cup over grudgingly, and watched him wolf down the pastry and chug the coffee. 

            "I had to deceive you, Watson, but I was sure I was being followed since I left your place. But it's all right for now, he didn't get on the train before the doors closed. Ah, but don't tell me you were worried?" His eyes held a mischievous glint. 

            Inwardly, I let out a sigh of relief. But I'd never give Holmes the satisfaction. "As if," I scoffed. "You owe me $3.50 for the pastry and coffee. Pay up."

            He cocked his eyebrow, but said nothing as he handed me the money, which I pocketed. 

            "It'll be another six hours before we hit San Francisco. I'm getting some sleep," I announced, throwing one last defiant stare at Holmes. I curled up in the seat and closed my eyes, as the sound of the train on the tracks gradually lured me into a deep slumber. 

AN: I know, I know, boring chapter! But it'll get more exciting when they get to SF, really; after all, James is not thrown off _that easily. _

To snowwolf: you know that you hold a special place in my heart! You've been my most faithful and your encouragement really means A LOT! Especially since you're such a sweetie reviewing every chapter- I'm so flattered. Anyway, yeah, I do like writing about guys who… uh, clean up well. Apologies for Watson being a bit … "blur"… after all she's only human… I'll be explaining the surname thing later, as Holmes and Watson have quite a bit of talking to do in the future… Thanks again! 

Thanks to A.Spencer (thanks for your faith in my logic!), Silent Beatnik (much thanks), Moonrose (nah, the Grand Canyon is too easy… and yes, tough times for Watson ahead…) 


	8. San Francisco: the Background

AN: ACD owns stuff. It¡¦s a long chapter (for me anyway)! 

Chapter 8

Holmes and I arrived at San Francisco without further incident, though it did relatively little to relieve my nerves- or Holmes¡¦, for that matter. It seemed that he had reached an even more heightened sense of alert, scrutinizing our surroundings every three minutes. We were currently sitting in a grassy area off Polo Field in San Francisco¡¦s Golden Gate Park, munching on deli sandwiches in a comfortable silence. Nearby, two youth league soccer teams were playing what appeared to be an intense game; parents were screaming all sorts of disruptive phrases.

¡§You never wanted children.¡¨ Holmes broke the silence.

I was still surprised how often he could read my thoughts. ¡§No. I didn¡¦t. James did though.¡¨

¡§How did you and James ever meet anyway?¡¨

The question was harmless. ¡§In college. We were both in Senate and worked on a few projects together. And you know, things progressed from there. We were dating through most of senior year and on through grad school; he was working on a joint PhD in math and computer science, I was in med school. We married, and then things went downhill from there.¡¨ 

¡§Why?¡¨

I sighed. This was always a sticky point. ¡§My parents never approved of James. He was white, and they always said that we were too different to last. My mother almost had a heart attack when I told her I was going to marry him. My father¡K well, we haven¡¦t spoken since. They couldn¡¦t understand that James and I wanted to build something new. I mean, even Watson is a combination of our last names, Wang and Johnston. So it¡¦s always been a battleground; James despised my parents, and I tried to defend them.¡¨

¡§I see.¡¨

¡§And you know, they were right. Here I am, going on thirty, estranged from my folks, already divorced, and still trying to hang on to a last name that doesn¡¦t even mean anything anymore. I mean, James even took on his mother¡¦s maiden name instead of even going back to his old one. He¡¦s moving on, fashioning himself a new life, but I don¡¦t seem to be able to. Instead, I¡¦m hanging around dead bodies and smell like a walking lab accident.¡¨ I let out a short, bitter laugh.

¡§Somehow I doubt that James¡¦ name change had anything to do with that,¡¨ Holmes commented. ¡§But really, Watson, has working as an ME been that boring? I mean, you get to work with me, and it¡¦s anything but dull.¡¨

I threw a crumpled sandwich wrapper at him. ¡§Taxing would be a better word. Since we¡¦re being all talkative today, how did you ever end up at Lestrade¡¦s beck and call?¡¨

Holmes appeared slightly peeved. ¡§I help Lestrade because I like the flexibility of not having to be official. Furthermore, Lestrade¡¦s ineptness gives me a freedom that I normally wouldn¡¦t have.¡¨

¡§Have you always been interested in detective work?¡¨

He had a faraway look on his face as he answered. ¡§Actually, not really. I used to be a research chemist. It was the most exciting thing in the world, doing hands-on research, and analyzing hard data. I was interested in crime as an aside then, but only in physical evidence. Lawyers lie, witnesses lie, defendants lie, and juries can be wrong. Evidence, on the other hand, never lies.¡¦ 

¡¥So I began to study how physical evidence is gathered, and soon, I was hooked. I quit my job and started working in forensics. I became obsessed with blood splatters, and even wrote the first official work- _Bloodstain Pattern Interpretation_- on that subject. I was concerned with truth, not motives- that aspect I left up to detectives.¡¨

¡§So when did motive begin to matter?¡¨ I asked.

¡§When Jason was murdered.¡¨ The last sentence was a whisper, which I almost didn¡¦t catch.

_Jason Holmes. His brother¡¦s keeper_. ¡§Your brother?¡¨

Holmes didn¡¦t answer. I took that as a yes. 

¡§I¡¦ve set it up so that he thinks we¡¦re in Arizona,¡¨ Holmes announced suddenly, changing the subject, as he started brushing bread crumbs off his shirt. ¡§So we¡¦ve lost him temporarily.¡¨

¡§So how long do we have? ¡¨ I mumbled through a mouthful of roast beef.

¡§They should all be in custody Monday night. Lestrade¡¦s handling it,¡¨ he replied. I detected a bit of anxiety in his voice; Lestrade was not best person to carry out a detailed trap. But it didn¡¦t seem like there was much choice.

¡§So that gives us three days to spend here. Are we going to spend it all here?¡¨

He smiled a little, traces of the last conversation topic all gone. ¡§If all goes to plan. Why, you don¡¦t like San Francisco? I¡¦m personally quite fond of the trolleys myself.¡¨

¡§I¡¦d like it a lot better if I knew where we were staying tonight. Park benches are not my style.¡¨

He looked hurt. ¡§Come, Watson, you can¡¦t possibly think I¡¦m that heartless.¡¨ He began cleaning up. ¡§We¡¦ll head down there now.¡¨ 

I followed suit, brushing the grass off my coat, glancing wistfully at the carefree soccer players on Polo Field one last time before I ran after Holmes.

*****

We hopped off the trolley forty minutes later at Fisherman¡¦s Wharf, Holmes leading the way. We ended up at a quaint little bed and breakfast that began to look sickingly familiar. It couldn¡¦t possibly be¡K 

¡§O ye of little faith,¡¨ Holmes remarked dryly as he walked straight into the bed and breakfast. I swallowed uneasily, and followed Holmes, who was already at the check-in desk. 

I glanced around the entry, comparing it to the last time I was here. A new coat of paint was the only difference; even the furniture was the same. It wasn¡¦t that long ago, I told myself. Two years.

¡§Come Watson, let¡¦s go.¡¨ Holmes¡¦ voice broke me out of my stupor. He directed us to a room down the short hallway, opening the door with a flourish. 

¡§We¡¦ll stay here for tonight.¡¨

I surveyed the room- two beds, a couple of chairs, a bathroom, and a cozy fireplace, which Holmes was lighting up at the moment. 

I plopped down on the nearest bed and closed my eyes, trying to organize my thoughts on what was a tumultuous twenty four hours. I barely got a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door. I cracked open one eye. Holmes was reclining on one of the chairs, not moving, lost in his own little world. 

I shook my head, rolled off the bed, and opened the door. ¡§Message for Mr. Holmes.¡¨ The clerk at the front desk held a folded piece of paper to me, which I accepted. 

I nodded my thanks, tipped the guy a dollar, and shut the door. Turning around, I started to open the paper, but Holmes, who had leapt out of his seat, immediately snatched it out of my hand. 

I tried to read his expression (a futile action) as he read the note. He held the paper steadily in his hand for what seemed several moments. His hand than began to shake, and he crumpled the note up and tossed it in the fire in one swift action. Then, without saying a word, Holmes stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door, and let out the longest string of curses at LAPD (Lestrade in particular) that I had ever heard. It probably would have been longer, except he had turned on the shower, and the rushing water drowned out any other choice words he might have had for the ferret-like detective. 

I glanced at the fire, wondering what on earth caused this rage from someone who had never lost his temper. I then noticed that Holmes had missed his mark; the note that he had intended for the fire had landed only to the side, it¡¦s edges barely starting to singe. Using a pair of tongs I found next to the fireplace, I fished it out. 

I gingerly opened the note and read it. 

_Jake:_

_Circumstances forced us to put the plan in action earlier than expected; however, we were able to apprehend everyone in the gang, with the exception of James Moriarty himself. Do not worry, as we have the best police officers on his trail. _

_Lestrade_

James Moriarty. No, it couldn¡¦t be. 

_Besides, something came to light tonight that reassured me of your safety; this man__¡¦__s rage against me will be all the greater when he finds me with you._ Holmes was after James, my ex-husband. 

I sunk down into the nearest chair, gripping the armrest tightly. I needed answers. Holmes couldn¡¦t shower forever, and I would be ready when he came out.

AN: Ah, showdown! Anyways, much thanks to my reviewers as always. (I love you guys so much that I¡¦m writing this in the midst of congestion and sore throat-y-ness; plus, I¡¦m also out of the country!) Silent Beatnik- your insistence was what made me write this chapter earlier than planned; Fowl-Star- hope your vacation was super fun, thanks!; Pinkpanther- thanks so much for your encouragement, I think I¡¦ll be done with this after this story, though there are some still plot kinks that might have me write a sequel (though I don¡¦t think it¡¦ll be as strong a story- anyway, will ask for your opinion when the time comes); Finely- you¡¦re really too kind, my story¡¦s not that good (in fact, I think it stinks in so many areas- especially characterizations); and last but definitely not least: snowwolf: You are one amazing person! Thanks for all the detail/attention you give my story! You all are awesome; you all definitely deserve better than what I¡¦ve written, especially since you all might wring my neck after the next one. 


	9. Splitsville

AN: ACD owns stuff.

Chapter 9

I waited patiently for Holmes to step out of the bathroom. Questions swirled in my mind; normally, I hated confrontations, but this one was unavoidable.

The bathroom door opened moments after the water stopped running. Holmes stepped out, seemingly oblivious to the glare I shot in his direction. ¡§Watson, could you call the front desk for another set of towels?¡¨

¡§I thought we were partners.¡¨ 

Holmes turned to face me, his eyes focusing first on the wrinkled note in my hand, and finally resting on my furious expression. ¡§We are.¡¨

I shook my head. ¡§No. You couldn¡¦t even tell me you were investigating my ex-husband.¡¨

¡§You knowing would have compromised the investigation,¡¨ he answered stiffly. 

¡§That¡¦s bullshit, Holmes,¡¨ I shot back, jumping to my feet. 

He walked up to me until he was mere inches away. ¡§Then tell me this. Do you believe me when I say that without out a doubt, James Moriarty is the leader of the biggest criminal ring in Los Angeles?¡¨

¡§He couldn¡¦t be. James¡K he¡¦s a good guy. You don¡¦t know him!¡¨ I protested.

Holmes¡¦ face was triumphant. ¡§You see? I was right.¡¨

I shook my head furiously, refusing to believe what I was hearing. ¡§No. Not James. He was always good to me. It was me who messed it up!¡¨ 

¡§You still love him.¡¨ It was a statement not a question. 

¡§We¡¦ve been divorced a year already. I hardly think¡K¡¨ my voice trailed off. It was then I noticed that Holmes was not only shirtless, but clad solely in a white towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping his hair. _Gulp. I quickly cast my eyes to the floor._

¡§Did you not agree to a date with him? Did you not call him and tell him we were leaving? In doing so, did you not already compromise the investigation?¡¨ Holmes accused.

I took a step back. Holmes was getting too close for comfort. 

¡§Love is an emotion, and emotions are distractions in the search for truth. Case in point: your love for him blinds you to all his faults. Even when all evidence shows otherwise,¡¨ he lectured, stepping closer, unaware of my discomfort.

I lashed out. ¡§What evidence, Holmes? All I have to go on is what you tell me. Why should I believe you?¡¨ 

¡§Are we not partners?¡¨

My voice dropped to a whisper. ¡§I thought we were. But this doesn¡¦t work if there¡¦s no trust.¡¨

¡§Sometimes I don¡¦t trust you, Watson. Right now is one of those times. But you must concede that you don¡¦t trust me either. If you did, we wouldn¡¦t be having this discussion.¡¨ He paused, before adding condescendingly, ¡§Besides, I¡¦m always right. You should know me well enough not to question my judgment.¡¨

I was disgusted: disgusted at Holmes¡¦ boundless ego, disgusted at the way I could not stop my eyes from roaming across Holmes¡¦ body. ¡§And the same goes for you.¡¨

He scoffed. ¡§Watson, you may be halfway decent with dead people, but when it comes to the living, you have the worst judgment I¡¦ve ever seen. Your taste in men is not something to be proud of. Dr. Austin Reingold, serial killer? Professor James Moriarty, godfather of crime?¡¨

¡§Jake Holmes, arrogant bastard of a detective?¡¨ _Did I just say that out loud?_ I quickly looked away, my cheeks burning a deep crimson. _Shit_. 

Holmes froze for a moment before replying in the iciest tone I had ever heard. ¡§You think that¡¦s supposed to be a positive thing? That I¡¦m supposed to be comforted by the existence of your¡¨ -he grappled for the right word- ¡§_concern_ for me?¡¨

I felt two inches tall.

He pressed on, exploiting his advantage. ¡§All you¡¦ve ever done is screw over those who matter most to you. I don¡¦t particularly have a desire to be your next victim. Do I need to remind you of the list? Your parents, Dr. Reingold¡K¡¨

¡§Stop it!¡¨ I screamed, tearing up. ¡§Don¡¦t you think I go through this every time I look in a mirror? Every single day, Holmes. You cannot possibly understand how deep my self-loathing goes.¡¨

His resolute expression fell for a fleeting moment. ¡§I understand more than you know, Watson.¡¨

¡§Then tell me,¡¨ I challenged.

Those seemed to be the magic words, as Holmes immediately clammed up. 

¡§You see? You can¡¦t even give me an opportunity to prove myself, because you can¡¦t stand to be wrong,¡¨ I scoffed. ¡§And you¡¦re wrong about me, Holmes.¡¨

¡§I was wrong to trust you, Dr. Watson, not about you,¡¨ Holmes stated formally.

That bastard. I replied in as steady as a voice as I could muster, ¡§I have never, in the last three months, given you reason to doubt me. I thought we were friends.¡¨

Holmes made no effort to answer me. I knew that I had won- but inside, I felt strangely empty.

¡§Fine,¡¨ I hissed. ¡§I¡¦m leaving. Call me if you change your mind.¡¨ I grabbed my bag and stomped out. Only when the door had closed behind me did I allow myself the luxury of tears. 

AN: And so ends the longest argument in the world¡K augh, I think I really need to get a beta, as my writing is getting yech-ier (you see, that isn¡¦t even a word) by the moment. This has got to be the worst chapter yet (I¡¦m sorry to all of those who think I¡¦ve made Holmes too cruel, and yes, Watson is one screwed up gal; if I had my way, you all would really despise her). Thanks again to my readers- and please let me know if this story is getting too hokey. It¡¦s starting to rate a 10 on the how-corny-angsty-you-can-get-o-meter, which is _not_ what I¡¦m trying for.


	10. A Sour Midori but not for the whole nigh...

AN: As always, ACD has claims to stuff. Chapter 10  
  
I wiped away the last of my tears before setting out from the bed-and- breakfast. This was getting to be too much for me to handle, and I needed a drink. I weighed my options; I could head back to LA right away, or I could wait until tomorrow, or the next day, seeing how I had enough on me to get dinner, a place to sleep, and a train ticket or rental car home. Some tiny part of me held out that Holmes might call, therefore it was prudent for me to stay around San Francisco a few days, but I knew this probably wasn't going to happen. He was a stubborn one.  
  
A compromise was reached: I would stay tonight, but leave tomorrow if I hadn't heard from him. I trudged into the Hyatt down the street, booked myself a room, and plopped myself down at the bar, inwardly refusing to budge until I would be too drunk to remember my own name. I sat there for a long time, nursing a sour midori, glancing periodically at the basketball game on the big screen. It was Jazz/Lakers, the Stockton and Malone pick- and-roll being executed to perfection, as the Jazz led the Lakers by fifteen points, and yet it still failed to lift me out of my gloom. All you've ever done is screw over those who matter most to you.  
  
"Laura! What are you doing here?" A sharp voice resounded over the soft jazz music from the lounge, where people were dancing.  
  
I looked up, my face lighting up into a smile. James. "Hey."  
  
He strolled over and sat next to me. "Just a Scotch, please," he gestured to the bartender.  
  
"I'm sorry you couldn't make it to our lunch date on Monday, but imagine seeing you here! So, what brings you to San Francisco? And all by yourself? I'd thought Mr. Holmes would be with you."  
  
The message- James had gotten my message I left on his voicemail. Shit. Could this day get any worse? "I was, but plans have changed," I answered as nonchalantly as I could. "What are you doing here?"  
  
James took a sip of the Scotch the bartender left in front of him. "Business."  
  
Time to find out if Holmes was for real. "Oh really? What kind?"  
  
James looked mighty pleased that I had asked. "Personal. You know, the stroll down memory lane kind." He reached over and placed his hand lightly over mine, sending shivers up my arm. But something felt different.  
  
I had had enough of arrogant men for one day. I jerked my hand away. "Don't toy with me James. Why are you really here?"  
  
"I usually take weekend trips up here to Fisherman's Wharf to get away from LA."  
  
Get away from LA, my ass. "Stop bullshitting me, James. I am not in the mood."  
  
James held up both his hands in protest. "Look, I'm sorry, ok? I heard the message you left on my voicemail and I just."  
  
He paused, considering his words, before continuing. "I followed you here, all right? But listen, life isn't the same without you Laura. I've missed you too. I've just- god, I've wanted to pick up the phone and call you for so long, but I didn't think you'd pick up."  
  
He missed me too? "James, in case you've forgotten, you threw me out."  
  
He shook his head. "I was wrong, Laura. I'm sorry. Seeing you on Friday night on the arm of someone else just made me realize what I threw away."  
  
"So that's what this is about. You can't stand seeing me with anyone else." Normally, I would have jumped straight back into James' arms, but the argument with Holmes (and perhaps the alcohol as well) had left me in a horrid mood.  
  
He chugged the remainder of his glass before turning to me again. "You can hate me all you want, Laura, but I do care about you very much."  
  
Did he honestly think I hated him? I was speechless.  
  
James had a worried look on his face when I didn't answer. "Laura? Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes, I'm fine," I whispered. "I don't hate you, you know. I'm just. having a bad day."  
  
"You want to talk about it? We have all night."  
  
I tried to study James' expression for any sign of an ulterior motive, but couldn't find anything. "I don't feel like talking about it right now."  
  
His face fell, but he recovered quickly. "That's all right, I understand."  
  
"But maybe later tonight," I offered. "That is, if you'd like to stay." my voice trailed off hastily.  
  
"I'd love to," he smiled, placing his hand once again over mine. And this time, I didn't shrink away.  
  
AN: Sorry about the delay, as school has started (get used to the 1000+ pages of reading a week in college!) James is so sly, don't you think? Ah, I've always had a thing for shady characters. Poor Watson. She really needs a reality pill. Snowwolf: thanks, I'm glad you like SF too! Glad to hear that Jake is in character, and that you enjoyed the towel scene (hah! I enjoyed writing it!) Fowl-Star: hmm, no punching between Holmes and Moriarty in sight, sorry to disappoint. And yes, I think I might be staring at Holmes. Silent Beatnik: your new chapter rocks, and thanks for the vote of confidence. 


	11. The World's Worst Hangover and Its After...

AN: So I'm recovering from 4 midterms, 2 papers, a thesis proposal, a crashed laptop (which contained the next couple of installments in this story), all within the span of three days. Since there's no chance of me getting the laptop fixed soon, I thought it might be nice for me to at least attempt to reconstruct the chapters, as it has been a few months since an update… *ducks all rotten fruit*.  Anyway, ACD owns stuff. 

Chapter 11

The throbbing pain in my head woke me early the next morning. I groaned inwardly, not particularly enjoying what most likely was the worst hangover I had ever experienced; it was as if a million men, each equipped with his own jackhammer, was drilling away in my head. The only thing that kept me from cursing a storm was my reluctance to irritate my dry throat further. 

I opened my eyes groggily, surveying the tornado that was my room, trying desperately to remember what had happened last night. The contents of my bag were scattered across the hotel chairs, while a couple of empty vodka bottles surrounded trash can, as if someone (probably me) had thrown them half-heartedly but missed. The bathroom light was still on, and the sun was beginning to peek along the edges of the blinds, shining a bit of light on the trail of clothes strewn from the door to the bed. They were my clothes. I was butt naked. 

_Fuck._ I must have been really wasted last night. Who let me… my jaw dropped a mile when I realized who I was with last night. _I didn't._ Turning my head, I stared in shock at the familiar figure buried under the sheets- the deeply sleeping man who was my ex-husband, James Moriarty. I gingerly lifted the sheets, praying that it wouldn't confirm my worst fear.  Fate wasn't so kind today; James' beautifully sculpted and excruciatingly tempting body was likewise, unclothed. Were we really that trashed?

I forced myself to think, to replay the events of yesterday. James kept buying me drinks, and I had gotten very drunk- and desperately had asked him to crash at my place last night. He came up with me, and one thing led to another. I couldn't help a little smile when I thought about that; it brought back feelings of familiarity, security, warmth, and acceptance- things that I hadn't felt with anyone since him with the exception of Holmes. I bit my lip as I remembered why I ended up at the bar in the first place- my argument with Holmes. 

For all my complaining to Holmes about not trusting me- he was right to a certain extent, I had to concede. The moment he left, I literally hopped into bed with his enemy. But it was his fault for not trusting me to begin with, part of me screamed. But that didn't justify my behavior. I glanced warily at the empty vodka bottles; neither did the alcohol- I was coherent enough to say no- to anyone except my gorgeous ex-husband, whom I still cared for. But Holmes had no right in keeping things from me. 

I glanced at the clock. It was 7 AM, and if I hurried, I could still make the noon train back to Los Angeles. I got up gently from the bed, as not to disturb James, and hopped in the shower, hoping that the steaming hot water could block out both the hangover and the deeply conflicting emotions within me.

AN: A few general comments: Apologies to my readers for being so SLOW, and that I lost the good draft of this. Grr to my */#@&#^&* laptop. Thanks to snowwolf (your faithfulness is inspiring), fowl-star (yeah, only Laura could really get through this argument without being too shocked to move, haha), Jekyll's Affliction (thanks for the thumbs-up on the angst, and yes, more on info James coming up), kenta divina (yes, James is evil incarnate), rosethorn (I'm having too much with things as they are right now, plus, Watson has to really come to terms with herself- as she does the stupidest things sometimes J ), kerowyn (thanks- and come back to the SH world soon! Although your HP stuff kicks butt too J ), silcatra (thanks for the encouragement), jepa (thanks!), and kittenchatter (welcome back J).   


	12. The Conversation the Morning After

AN: ACD has first dibs.

Chapter 12

When I got of the shower, James was sitting up in bed, awake. He looked up when he saw me. "Morning, sunshine."

I almost melted. It was exactly like old times, but it felt a bit disconcerting. "Morning, James. Did you sleep well?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Of course. Did you?" 

I nodded. An awkward pause followed. I began to get dressed, and started packing up my bag. James watched me from the bed for a few minutes before he got up and started getting dressed. The silence continued for a few more minutes before James placed his hands on my shoulders, and turned me around to face him.  

"I'm heading back to Los Angeles later today. Do you want to come with me?" he asked carefully.

I cast my eyes to my feet, attempting to avoid his intense gaze while hurriedly debating my options. I couldn't just abandon Holmes like this. "I'd love to, but…"

James' eyes narrowed. "But what?" he shot back. 

I started to quiver under his hardened stare, but I answered him anyway, in the steadiest voice I could muster. "I can't just leave Holmes like this. He's my friend."

"Some friend," James snarled. "He didn't even trust you enough to tell you why he left you stranded at the opera. If you were my date-"

"Well, I wasn't, was I? What have you got against him anyway?" I interrupted strongly, surprising even myself. 

James stared at me, incredulously. "You like him."

"Well, of course, he's my friend."

James continued before I could say anything else. "No, wait, I take that back. You don't just like him, you love him."

I opened my mouth to protest. Holmes and I weren't even friends, as he had so clearly pointed out to me just yesterday. "That's not true."

He smiled. "Look, sweetheart, just call me when you figure out what you want." He picked up a nearby pen and scribbled his cell phone number on my hand. He put on his jacket, and proceeded to head out the room.

I couldn't lose him again, not when what I wanted for so long was so close… "Wait."

James stopped, but didn't turn around. "What is it, Laura?"

"Look, James, I… I'd like to go back with you to Los Angeles."

He turned around, but stayed where he was. I kept talking. "I just don't like leaving things unfinished, you know? I'd like to say goodbye to Holmes before I go with you. You know, leave a note at his hotel or something. If you're willing to stay around San Francisco a little longer, I could meet up with you later tonight, and we could head back to Los Angeles then- after I talk to Holmes."

James smiled cryptically. "Of course- I'll wait for you to meet up with him. I have an appointment at 8 PM, but after that, I'll be free. Why don't we meet up at Vista Point tonight at 9? If you're there, then we'll go back to Los Angeles together. If you're not, I understand."

I nodded. "Okay."

"See you later, Laura." The door closed resoundingly behind him, as I sunk into the nearest chair. It was already 9 in the morning. How in the world was I supposed to find Holmes before tonight? I wasn't a detective by any means- I only worked with dead people! I swallowed uneasily, pushing down my feelings of bewilderment, forcing myself to think logically. Obviously, to start with the bed and breakfast. I reached into my purse for my copy of the room key.

It wasn't there.

I tore apart the room searching for the key, which Holmes had implored me to safeguard yesterday, to no avail. The key was gone.

AN: Thanks to my readers, and double thanks to my reviewers! I'm on spring break this week, so I'll try and *gasp* finish this story this week! And of course, I wonder where the key is…


	13. Finding Holmes

AN: For those of you who might still follow this story- wow, you guys have super patience. This chapter was the hardest to write, because I still wasn't sure how things were going to happen, and so I kept putting it off. But, here you go- and I have the rest of it written already, so it's the home stretch! ACD has first dibs, as always.

I tore apart the room searching for the key, which Holmes had implored me to safeguard yesterday, to no avail. The key was gone.

I must have dropped the key for the bed-and-breakfast room sometime during my self-pity fest yesterday. No matter, I could still talk to the front desk at the place and see if I could get in the room; while I highly doubted Holmes might be there, I hoped he might have left something to indicate his whereabouts. I gave up on finding the key an hour later, and gathered my stuff together. There was no use dawdling, and I had an appointment to keep.

After convincing the bed-and-breakfast manager that I was indeed a previous guest, I found myself standing in the middle of the room where I had last left Holmes. Of course, like I had suspected, he was nowhere to be found. Given that he was on the run anyway, I highly doubted that he had left anything remotely useful for me regarding his whearabouts. The room was meticulously clean and neat, even though the manager had assured me that the cleaning crew didn't go through the room yet. Holmes' bag contained only the clothes he was wearing yesterday.

I didn't have the faintest idea where to look for Holmes. He wasn't carrying his cell phone, and there was no way for me to contact him. How was I supposed to find him? I sank into the nearest chair, trying to rack my brain for any references, hints, or clues he may have inadvertently mentioned before we had our blowout. About James, my ex-husband, the man who Holmes claimed to be the kingpin of all organized crime in Los Angeles. The man who Holmes had been after for months.

That was it! I didn't have to look for Holmes. I only had to find James. Given Holmes' one track mind- in this case, catching James, who had escaped Lestrade- it was so obvious! Holmes would be looking for James too- so all I had to do was to find James, and tail him. I was bound to run into Holmes that way.

And unlike finding Holmes, it would be much easier to find James. After all, James was a creature of habit- and given that it was just past lunchtime, I knew exactly where James would be- at Nick's.

I was right- I found James having lunch with some men at Nick's, a seafood restaurant on the Wharf. I walked past the restaurant, and propped myself on a nearby sidewalk bench that gave me a good view of the restaurant and most of the street nearby.

"What are you doing here?" I heard someone hiss from the bench behind mine.

The voice was familiar. "Holmes?" I moved to turn around.

"Don't turn around. Now, I asked, what are you doing here?"

I gulped. "I was looking for you."

I heard his low chuckle. "No. You're here to interfere. With my apprehension of a criminal."

"I still haven't heard evidence of his criminal activity, Holmes. You're gonna have to do better." My voice grew defiant.

"Dr. Watson, I do not have the time to rehash this conversation with you. You'd see the evidence if you weren't so damn blindly in love with him. You were married to the man. Didn't you ever wonder why a math professor was pulling in millions of dollars a year?"

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. "That money was from his computer science patents, Holmes."

"Believe what you want, Dr. Watson, but if you get in the way of the investigation, I shall personally see to it that you are…" his voice trailed off.

"Fine." I snapped. "This isn't why I was looking for you in the first place anyway."

His reply was short and curt. "What is, then?"

"I wanted to say…" I turned around, and found myself face to face with an old lady with Holmes' deep, piercing eyes.

If it were any other time, I would have burst out laughing at his ensemble, floral dress and matching purse, complete with a white wig, pearl earrings and a wooden cane. But I was too torn up to compliment his intricate costuming. Part of me wanted to really say goodbye to Holmes, run off and live happily ever after (albeit on the run) with James, and yet another part of me wanted to throw myself at Holmes' feet and beg for his forgiveness.

But I did neither, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

Holmes' sighed, and his voice took on something of his old chiding tone. "Your indecisions will cost you someday, you know. But you know what, I'll make this one easy."

I bit my lip, trying to muster up my courage to say something. "What do you mean?"

"Goodbye, Watson."

This was it. He had said what I could not. I stood up, nodded at Holmes, and turned.

"Just promise me one thing, my dear," an old lady's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Anything," I whispered to myself, my back still turned.

"Don't lose the room key."

I whirled around, wanting to tell Holmes that I had indeed lost it- but the old lady was already gone.

Shit.

AN: And duh. Of course James took the key! J You all are so smart! Snow-wolf1, you rock. And Mists of Myth, thanks. Es, Kittenchatter- you all have been so helpful!


	14. Letting Go

AN: And here, she _finally_ realizes what's up… ACD has first dibs, as always.

* * *

I searched high and low for Holmes for the entire afternoon, but he was nowhere to be found. James and his partners too, had left Nick's. I had lost track of both of them, and the sky was getting dark. I looked up and saw massive thunderclouds.

The only thing I could do was to head back to the bed-and-breakfast, and perhaps run into Holmes and tell him there. Guilt was eating away at me. Holmes had implored me to keep the key safe, and I had failed him.

This time, the manager didn't give me any trouble when I asked to be let up into the room. "Holmes?" I knocked on the door.

No answer.

The manager was still behind me. "Uh, ma'm, Mr. Holmes was here briefly and he left again. In a real hurry too. I never seen someone so eager to go out in this weather." He opened the door for me.

"Thank you." He nodded politely, and left.

I glanced around the room. Everything was where I had seen it last. The bed was still made, Holmes' bag still in the corner, and the shades still drawn.

Then I noticed it- a single room key on the nightstand next to the phone. Next to it, a message pad, with "Vista Point, 8 PM" scrawled on it. The handwriting was familiar.

I wondered why Holmes had left his key inside the room when he had obviously gone out. Then it hit me- it wasn't Holmes' key, it was probably my key! I must have left it here yesterday after getting in that fight. _But that couldn't be right either_- I distinctly remembered putting it into my purse when I left.

I picked up the key, unsure to why Holmes would ask me to safeguard something if he had it all along in the first place. Then I caught a faint whiff of cologne. _It couldn't be_. I held the key card closer to my nose. I realized where I recognized that smell- it was James' cologne. What was James' cologne on the key for?

I looked at the message pad closer. The message was in James' handwriting. _Why-?_ **Oh my God.**

Holmes' was right all along. The thunder jolted me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the clock. It was already 7:55. I had 5 minutes to get to Vista Point.

I ran out of the room, and shouting for the manager to call me a cab. I hoped that I wasn't too late.

* * *

The rain was falling harder and faster than ever. I was forcing myself to keep calm, struggling to see through the tears that wouldn't stop, face glued to the window for any sign of them. Directing the cab driver through the narrow roads in Vista Point State Park along the trails, we finally came upon a black executive sedan parked on the side of the road.

"Here, here, drop me off here." I gestured frantically at the cab driver.

"Look lady, it's pouring out. You don't wanna be wandering in no forest with this lightening."

I waved off his concern, tossing a hundred dollar bill at him. "Here. Keep the change." I scrambled out of his car, glancing at my watch. It was already 8:15.

I ran up the paved road, barely hearing the squeal of the cab as it pealed away. The feeling of the icy rain pounding down on my body, soaking me thorougholy, did not register as I ran up the road. The paved road ended about a quarter mile away from the waterfall cliff, and I trudged on. The trail was very muddy, and it was slow going.

"Holmes!" I called, stumbling over the fast flowing mud streams. No answer. The wind continued to roar around me; the thunderstorm was still raging.

A flash of lightening allowed me to dimly make out two figures in combat close to the edge of the cliff. It was them. I dashed up to the edge of the cliff as fast I as could, against the roaring wind.

"Holmes!" I tried again. I was about twenty yards away from both of them, who were teetering close to the edge of the hundred foot cliff. At the bottom of the precipice lay the jagged rocks that framed the beautiful waterfall during the day. One false slip tonight would be death.

"Holmes!" I was close enough to see them clearly.

This time he heard me, turning around. "Watson! Get out of here!" His momentary lapse in concentration cost him, as James took advantage of it and shoved him over the edge.

A strangled cry escaped my throat as I tried to rush to the edge of the cliff. _No, it couldn't be!_ Before I could reach the edge and a swaggering James, part of the cliff gave way, taking Moriarty with it as well. The rain had not lessened any, rapidly loosening the topsoil holding the edge of the cliff to the rest of the mountain.

I approached the edge of the cliff slowly, at a crawl and on all fours. Despite my confident progression towards the edge, inside, I was hysterical. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Holmes and James in one night? No, I refused to accept it._

I inched myself over to the edge, peering over the steep rock face. "James? Holmes?"

"Watson!"

It was Holmes. I made my way over to the voice, finding a pair of hands gripping the edge. I silently offered an arm, which Holmes' took. But before I could pull him up, another hand gripped my free arm.

It was James. "Laura, please, pull me up, I can't hold on any longer," he whimpered as he tightened his grip.

I began to panic. I had no free arm, and each man required more strength than I had in one arm to pull up. "Holmes, can you pull yourself up with one hand on the cliff?" I could see one of his hands grasping futilely at the edge of the cliff. The topsoil was too muddy and kept peeling away.

"No, Watson. It won't work."

There had to be another way. I ransacked my brain- but came up with nothing. And I was starting to tire.

"Watson! You can't pull both of us up. You'll have to drop one of us! It's your choice." Holmes' cool, collected voice seemed extremely out of place for a man in a life-or-death situation.

I could feel James' fear. "No, Laura, I love you! Help me up and we can be together- I'll never leave you! It'll be like old times. I promise." I could make out something of the old James in his voice- the warmth and tenderness he used lavish upon me. James had never hurt me. I felt his grip begin to slip, and I held onto him tighter. I couldn't lost him again.

I then glanced over expectantly at the man who had hurt me deeply just last night. _I was wrong to trust you. All you've ever done is screw over those who matter most to you. _Holmes' voice echoed in my head. But here, I had a chance to make it up to James.

I felt Holmes' usually ironclad grip begin to loosen. "Watson, remember what I said about your indecision this afternoon? That it's gonna cost you?" The man was still cracking jokes. I couldn't believe it. His voice turned serious. "Watson- you know… I won't interfere. This is your decision."

"I love you Laura," James pleaded.

I closed my eyes, shutting out the relentless beats of rain on my back and now extremely sore arms. I didn't think it would have to come down to such a choice- but I knew who I would have to drop.

So I let him go.

AN: A very literal cliffhanger! I'm so mean, I know. Please, let me know what you all think.


	15. The Other Conversation the Morning After

AN: And here's the last chapter… you guys have been so awesome to stick with it for so long!

* * *

I awoke the next morning to beams of sunlight peeking shyly around the blinds. _Last night was just a dream. _ When I get up, I convinced myself, everything would be back to normal.

"Did you sleep well?" A familiar voice greeted me.

I opened my eyes groggily, refusing to budge from the comfort of the pillows. "Good morning to you. You get any sleep?"

He was sitting in a chair, next to the bed, watching me. "Not really. I've been tying up some loose ends with what happened last night.

I groaned. _So it wasn't a dream after all._ "Did they find the body?"

He shook his head. "No, but I didn't expect them to."

I slowly sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, in a vain attempt to wake up and shut out of my mind what had happened last night. But the images cam rushing back._ The pounding rain. The iron grip of both my arms by the two men who dangled precariously over the cliff. James' pleading voice and pledge to love me, take care of me, and never leave me; Holmes' calm, collected voice, telling me that it was my decision and completely my decision-_ and I had made one.

The memories of what happened after that seemed more jumbled. I remember changing into dry clothes and promptly falling asleep on the hotel chair as he talked to police. He must have carried me to the bed. And here I was, sitting up, facing him. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft, reflecting a concern that I had never seen before. He got up from the chair and sat next to me on the bed, never taking his eyes off of me.

"Why me?" he whispered.

The fool still didn't know. "Because I trust you, Holmes."

The pause that followed my admission was the longest I had ever experienced. Holmes closed his eyes, seemingly lost deep in though, unmoving, contemplating his next move. _Maybe I shouldn't have said anything_. I began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

I couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Holmes, I…"

Holmes shushed me, putting his fingers on my lips. "Don't say another word," he murmured, tucking wayward strands of hair behind my ears. I could feel his nervousness as his trembling fingers brushed against my hot cheeks. He smiled ruefully at me. "I have a hard time trusting people, but it's no excuse for what I said to you. I'm sorry- and I will never question your intentions again."

I was now in complete disbelief. He was apologizing? _Maybe I should save his life more often. _

Not even his apology could have prepared me for what happened next. He leaned forward, and after a slight hesitation, pulled me into his arms- a soft and gentle embrace- something I previously did not believe Holmes to be ever capable of. "Thanks," he mumbled.

I felt a hot blush creep up in my cheeks before we finally broke apart. "Anytime."

Holmes then pulled a pair of tickets out of his back pocket as he eased himself off the bed, regaining something of his old manner. "Now then, I have box seats for _Das__ Reingold_ tonight. Might I trouble you to be ready in a few minutes so we can be back in LA in time for the show?"

* * *

AN: And as Kittenchatter says, "We all know who she dropped." ;)

Thanks again to those who reviewed, especially those who've stuck with this story for so long- snowwolf, Kittenchatter, Komikitty, Mists of Myth, LeperMessiah86 and Blue Crayon, Es, Nightbreeze, Kerowyn, Silent Beatnik, jepa, Silcatra, Rosethorn, Kenta Divina, Pinkpanther, Finley, Moonrose1, A.Spencer, .. and anyone else I forgot.

Now a question to you all: I have one last story with Laura Watson/Jake Holmes in mind (where we finally address Holmes' past as well as other things, cough cough)… would it be something you guys would like to read? Let me know!


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